


Born of Hatred and Betrayal

by non8inary



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Does Grammarly count as a Beta Reader, Gen, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Wilbur Soot, Not Beta Read, Self-Hatred, Suicide, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Trust Issues, asking for a friend, mentioned disordered eating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:48:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29259990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non8inary/pseuds/non8inary
Summary: The siren song of the Nether has Tommy in its clutches, and Tommy has finally given up on trying to stop listening to its call.- or -Tommy loses his last life in the Nether during his exile, and just like Wilbur's transition to Ghostbur, GhostInnit seems to be an entity entirely new.- - Note:Additional tags will be updated with each chapter. Please check the trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter.[Also the title is temporary. I couldn't be bothered to think of anything clever at the moment.]
Comments: 16
Kudos: 242





	1. Point of No Return

**Author's Note:**

> \-- Trigger Warnings:  
> drowning (mentioned and described)  
> suicidal ideation  
> self-hatred (implied) and self-degradation  
> lack of self-care (implied)  
> self-injury (brief mention, accidental)  
> suicide notes  
> manipulation (brief mention)  
> death and suicide (mentioned frequently)
> 
> This chapter focuses heavily on Tommy going into the Nether and his imminent demise.  
> Proceed with caution - stay safe, y'all.

Tommy found himself staring into the portal as he carefully traced over the warm obsidian frame with his fingertips, absentmindedly taking in every chip, crack, and curve in the surface. He had originally come out in an attempt to lull himself into a sleepy state, watching the purple swirls of the portal will themselves in and out of existence, but instead, he just felt more awake.

 _I should try to go to sleep_ , he thought to himself, giving a glance back over to his tent. The thin canvas used to shield him from the outside had slowly deteriorated throughout his time in exile, leaving holes in the material for the wind to wiggle its way through. At first, he’d tried his best to keep up with repairs, patching up rips or tears as he saw them, but over the past week, he couldn’t find himself wanting to bother with the lengthy task. He’d begun to grow accustomed to the cold, letting the chill of the night envelope him in a tight hug that nipped angrily at his skin.

A small yawn escaped managed to escape him, and he took it as a signal that the decision to head back to the tent, even if he knew all too well that he would just end up laying motionless in the small cot he’d been provided, awake for hours with nothing but his thoughts and the gentle sound of the expanse of nature all around him, until he was finally able to give in to slumber. He moved to step away, his hand hovering over the obsidian frame when a sudden tightness began to form in his chest.

The warmth that irradiated from the portal was so inviting, welcoming him in with the promise of night without darkness, without frigid winds, without the threat of a monster wandering in while he slept…

Without the threat of drowning, something he’d begun to expect from himself every night when he climbed into his bed for sleep. It’d become somewhat of a routine to wake up to the sting of salt water in his lungs and to use what little energy he was able to round up from the few hours of sleep he’d gotten to bring himself back to the shore. He’d briefly considered moving the location of his tent somewhat farther away from the water that he found himself almost dying in on a daily basis, but dismissed the idea once he’d begun to accept the fact that he wouldn’t survive much longer in his exile anyways. It’s not like drowning wasn’t the worst way to go, anyways.

Without stopping to let himself overthink his decision, Tommy stood in the portal. He gave Logstedshire a quick mental goodbye as his vision filled with purple and closed his eyes tightly, not releasing them until he felt the almost suffocating heat of the Nether wash around him. He was greeted with the familiar sight of the netherrack floor that suspended him safely up above the sea of lava below, the deep red and orange hues that it omitted visible in every direction. He took a step forward out of the portal frame, the intense heat from the floor below him enough to burn away at the bottom of his feet, even through the soles of his shoes.

Taking a deep breath, Tommy felt his lungs fill warmth, and the numb cage he had been encased in suddenly shattered around him. The only thing he could find himself feeling was a bitter, white-hot _rage_ brewing deep within him, the Nether feeding it like gasoline to a flame.

He was tired, _so_ tired, and all he wanted to do at that moment was scream. Scream for all the people he was missing, for the touches he longed to feel again, for the faces in his memory that had slowly begun to drift away into obscurity. Scream for every mistake he’d made, for every moment of pride that had prevented him from owning up to his own bullshit, for every time he’d found himself hurting the people around him because he couldn’t simply admit he was wrong. Scream for every wrong he’d ever experienced at the hands of those he’d trusted, for every time he chose to keep fighting on the side of what he knew was a losing battle, for every lie and misdirection he’d have to force onto his friends in some weak attempt to keep them on his side. He wanted to scream and scream and scream until his vocal cords snapped and he wasn’t able to let out any sound except for the quiet wheeze of his breath, but even in the vast emptiness he found himself in, nothing escaped him.

He wasn’t sure when, but his hands had folded themselves into fists, his knuckles white and his palms red with blood as his fingernails dug into the skin. Even so, he couldn’t feel it. His thoughts became a deep haze he was trapped in, desperately trying to assemble some clarity to what he was feeling, scrambling to hold onto any thought he could as they slipped through his grasp. His thoughts seemed to rush by him only for brief moments, speeding through the whirlwinds of his mind, and the only uniformity he found between them all was the sense of betrayal.

When he finally found the haze clearing from within him, his vision re-focused around him. If he said he was surprised to find himself standing on the wooden bridge he’d made himself over a lake of boiling lava, he’d be lying. It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself standing there, his eyes, once a vibrant blue but dulled to the dark color of murky water, focused intently on the pulsing glow that radiated from the surface of the bubbling magma. This time, however, he didn’t let himself simply stare longingly into the enticing call of the blaze below before he turned around to head back to the pathetic home he’d been forced into. Rather, he found himself carefully moving into a sitting position, one leg underneath him with the other dangling over the edge, letting his thoughts run rampant with whatever they could want to say to him with his glossed over gaze fixated below him.

 _I can’t keep living like this,_ was the first thought to cross him. He let out a small sigh, knowing it was true. _Is this even really living?_

Tommy felt his heart sink even deeper in his chest. When was the last time he really felt alive? Not just living, but _alive_?

As much as he wanted to be able to answer himself, he couldn’t.

Most of his memory had begun to wither away throughout his exile, most of what remained distorted in some shape. The few memories he could grasp with crystal clarity were ones that haunted him, ones he longed to be able to forget with every fiber of his being. He tried to look back into the months prior to his exile, hoping that he would be able to come up with something - _anything_ \- that he could think of fondly.

But it was all static.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, unmoving, unable to look away from the lava that called so temptingly to him, trying to lull him in like a siren song. Maybe it was just a few minutes, maybe it was hours. Without a sky overhead to look to for an answer, when Tommy finally came back to some sort of sense, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He wasn’t sure he cared at that point, either.

Closing his eyes, he let his hands trace over the texture of the wood he sat on, following the natural crevices intricately carved into the wood with his fingertips, as he quietly tried to hum something to himself in a half-assed attempt to distract himself from the alluring melody of the bubbling magma below. It was successful only for a moment, finding himself entranced by the heat all over again as soon as he gave himself even a second to let his mind wander.

Unsure of what to do with himself, he clicked open his communicator - the only object he really kept with everywhere he went, besides the compass that Ghostbur had graciously given him, “ _Your Tubbo_ ” carefully carved onto the underside. Predictably, he had no new incoming messages. He hadn’t received anything new for weeks, he wasn’t surprised. After all, he was going to be the one reaching out this time.

Well.

He wasn’t expecting any responses, anyways. He simply wanted to send out some kind of last goodbye to those he cared about, even if they didn’t actually care for him the same anymore...

Or if they even ever did.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he tried to think, trying to formulate the messages he wanted to send. What was there to say? Would any of them even care what he _did_ have to say?

He felt some form of anxiety ball up in his throat, knowing full well that he had no comprehension for the time. For all he knew, people could be rising from their beds, eager to get on with their TommyInnit-less day. If that were the case, Dream would be arriving soon to check up on him, as he did every day, and if that were the case, it wouldn’t take long for Dream to find him.

Pushing down the anxiety building inside him, Tommy got to work.

> To Ghostbur,
> 
> I wanted to let you know that I don’t blame you for anything. There were definitely times when you pissed me off, but it was never your fault, and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel bad for yelling at you.
> 
> Thank you for spending time with me. Thank you for making Logstedshire with me.
> 
> I know you’re not Wilbur, but thank you for being my brother.
> 
> Signed,
> 
> TommyInnit

One down. He wasn’t sure how many goodbyes he’d have the energy to write out, already feeling exhausted from trying to pick and choose the right words to send. Letting out a quiet and somewhat strained sigh, he hit send, opening up another draft to send out before he could let himself think too much.

> To Technoblade,
> 
> I wanted to apologize to you.
> 
> I know you were doing what you had to do by spawning the withers in L’Manberg. I know I’ve done things that others didn’t want me to do, and I don’t blame you for sticking by your principles.
> 
> I’m sorry for dragging you into all of this conflict, and I’m sorry for anything that I may have caused on your end as well. I hope you’re able to find it inside your heart to forgive me, big man.
> 
> I’m also sorry I couldn’t bring myself to apologize to you face to face.
> 
> Signed,
> 
> TommyInnit

He quickly hit send after signing his name, moving on with fervor.

> To Dream,
> 
> Thank you for visiting me every day.
> 
> I’m sorry I don’t have much to offer you as thanks.
> 
> I shouldn’t be causing you or anyone else much trouble anymore.
> 
> Signed,
> 
> TommyInnit

Reading over the letter once more, his finger hovered over the Enter key, not sure if he should wait to send Dream his last goodbye. He _had_ grown more fond of Dream in his exile, but there was still a part of him deep inside of him that hated him, _loathed_ him even. Did Dream… really deserve any sort of closure? Any sort of apology?

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek, mulling over the debate he was having with himself.

 _Fuck it_ , he finally thought, _I don’t have time to think this over._

Tommy hit send and quickly moved onto another letter, hoping to distract himself with the oncoming panic that was slowly rising inside him.

> To Philza,
> 
> I’m sorry that you had to come here just to kill Wilbur. I’m sorry I couldn’t have done a better job to keep him in check, keep him safe.
> 
> If you see Ghostbur today, can you keep an eye on him? He’ll probably need some blue.
> 
> Signed,
> 
> TommyInnit

Before sending it out, he quickly added in an extra line above his signature:

> I’m sorry I couldn’t have been a better son.

And off the letter went.

He was left with one letter to write, and he knew it was going to be the most difficult one for him to face.

> To Tubbo,

...He froze.

There was so much he wanted to say. So much he wanted to apologize for, so much he wanted to tell him, so much he wanted to do. So much he couldn’t fit into this one letter, not if he had all the time in the world, just to write and write and write until there was nothing more left to say. Did Tubbo even care?

Suddenly, he could feel the pricks of tears beginning to form at the corners of his eyes, and his entire mind went white with a flash of hurt and anger. Of course, Tubbo didn’t care. Tubbo had exiled him, had entrusted his entire well being in the hands of the one man that he couldn’t have hated more, chosen their country over him, hadn’t bothered to visit him in his months of exile or even send him a letter. Tommy had tried, _really_ tried, to understand that as President, there were a lot of responsibilities weighing on Tubbo’s shoulders, but his invitation to the beach party should’ve been at least some excuse for him to escape the work for just a day.

Tubbo didn’t care.

Tommy felt rage consume him, every fiber of his being screaming. There was no coherent thought, just _screaming_.

He needed this over with as quickly as possible.

For a small moment, there was no foreign sound among the familiar bubbling of lava below and the occasional noise of a mob somewhere in the distance except for the quiet clicking of keys as Tommy typed out the only thing he could think of to say.

> To Tubbo,
> 
> I’m sorry.
> 
> Signed,
> 
> TommyInnit

As the last letter went off, Tommy took a deep breath. There was no surge of relief that he’d hoped for. Rather, he felt… unfinished. There was still something left he needed to do.

Tossing his communicator aside, he carefully removed the green bandana from around his neck, turning the fabric over gently in his hands. It was torn and tattered, stained with blood and gunpowder from the wars he’d participated in. One edge of the bandana was fraying heavily from his time wearing it, but he’d never bothered to get it fixed, much less take it off. It’s practically become a part of him, staying in place since the day Tubbo had given it to him.

A part of him wished he’d taken better care of it as he gently folded it up, placing it carefully on the bridge. He fished the only remaining item he had on and placed it neatly in the center, the purple hues of the enchanted compass vibrant against the now dull green. He had made sure to place it so the careful engraving on the backside was facing up. He gave the two items a fond look, his last time looking them over before he hoisted himself to his feet.

He let his eyes refocus onto the sea of orange and red hues that expanded out into the distance for miles around, his breathing steadying to the beat of the pulsing glow as he took a small step forward, and another. He didn’t flinch when the compass let out a loud crack underneath him as he unknowingly stepped on it, the entire world around him fading into a dull white noise. Another step forward. And another. His feet were just less than halfway over the edge, dangling rather precariously. If someone were to breathe too hard in his direction, the gentle breeze might’ve sent him over the edge.

With outstretched arms, Tommy let his center of gravity shift just ever so slightly forward, enough to push him over the edge, ready to embrace the fate he’d doomed himself to.


	2. The Numb of Ignorance and the Sting of the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo rises from another sleepless night to a message that he wasn't expecting to receive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- Trigger Warnings:  
> lack of self-care (briefly mentioned and described)  
> PTSD from war/fighting (briefly mentioned)  
> panic (mentioned -- no panic attacks are described)  
> death (mentioned and described)  
> suicide notes  
> suicide-implication
> 
> This chapter focuses on Tubbo and his reaction to getting the message from Tommy. (Phil's there too, and Ghostbur's there for a moment. Don't worry, they'll make a return.)  
> Proceed with caution - stay safe, y'all.

When the ceiling above him began its daily routine of changing from the usual muted blue-tinted white of night to the bold orange of the rising sun that beamed through the windows across every surface, Tubbo knew that he’d gone another sleepless night, staring impatiently at the ceiling above him in some fickle attempt to force himself asleep through sheer boredom. He rarely got more than a few hours of sleep a night, usually waking to find himself in the exact position, eyes quickly fixating on the muted white above.

He was  _ exhausted. _ Sure, Tubbo had never been one to have a super healthy sleep schedule. Sure, there were occasionally nights where he found himself too awake to really properly settle down into sleep and woke up feeling more tired than when he’d fallen asleep. Sure, there were moments when he was jolted awake by the resurfacing of repressed trauma he’d sustained through the wars he’d been forced into, the battles he’d fought in, the deaths and threats he’d faced. He’d always been able to bounce back in some shape, but this was different.

This time, he didn’t have Tommy around to help him out.

Tommy was amazing at being the support system he was for Tubbo, even if Tommy wasn’t entirely aware that he’d been one for his best friend. Tommy’s ability to keep his eyes on the present, never looking back, was admirable to him. He never seemed all too shaken up by what they’d been through together, and every new day was an adventure. There always seemed to be some new scheme hatching in his brain, and he was always off doing something new. Tubbo didn’t mind that Tommy rarely ever returned to his old projects to finish them - it was probably cathartic in some sense to keep himself distracted with new things all the time. It had to be better than giving your mind time to wander, anyways.

As the orange hues that bounced around the room began to fade into a warm yellow, Tubbo pulled himself up, rubbing his glossy eyes and letting out a somewhat strained yawn. As much as he wanted to try and sleep all day in some attempt to catch up on the hours, days even, of lost sleep that he’d accumulated, he knew he had a job to do. Any more staring at the vast emptiness of the ceiling would inevitably end with him beginning to piece together the image of Tommy’s face amongst the light popcorn texture, as it had so many times before, so he hoisted himself out of bed and shuffled over to the closet adjacent him.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, expression blank, staring at the multitude of suits, all in the same size and pattern with a patch of L’Manberg flag adorning the left sleeve of each and every suit. The only thing that removed him from this mindless state was the small ding of his communicator.

Thoughts buzzed in his brain for a moment, trying to logically deduce who could’ve been sending him a message so early in the morning before he could actually read it.

Quackity perhaps? Tubbo quickly dismissed this idea. Big Q wasn’t one to get up early, and it was a rarity to see him out and about before noon. 

Could it be Fundy? The idea was unlikely. Fundy was always very punctual, yes, but he didn’t quite seem like the kind of guy to rise with the sun. Even if he was the source of the message, Tubbo couldn’t find a reason for Fundy to reach out at such an odd time. He was usually more of a face-to-face person, and if it were truly urgent, Tubbo didn’t doubt that Fundy wouldn’t hesitate to break into his sleeping quarters in the White House.

The only reasonable option he could think of was Philza. The guy was known to get up early, and there had been a few times, usually on his most sleepless nights, in which Tubbo had seen Phil sitting on the porch of his home, coffee mug in hand, staring out at the horizon as the sun made its presence known to the world. It almost made him feel bad for putting the man under house arrest. Everyone knew of Phil’s love to explore, and being cooped up in the small confines of his house must’ve been driving him crazy…

Tubbo let out an exasperated sigh, concluding that, most likely, it wasn’t Phil. There was a strong tension between the two since he’d placed Phil under house arrest, and though he was the only person with some kind of reasonable explanation to be up at such early hours, it didn’t quite explain  _ why _ he would send him anything.

He threw on the first suit his hands made contact with, not bothering to make himself look entirely presentable right away. There wasn’t going to be anybody waiting outside the doors of his room anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to check whoever had messaged him before fully getting ready to tackle another long day of presidency.

The communicator sat on the chest by the door to the room, right where he’d left it the night before. The screen went dim as he approached it, but it quickly came back to life as he picked it up. A quick scan over the message sent him on a rollercoaster, one that began on a steady incline of happiness and excitement but sped downwards into a spiral of confusion before slamming to a break surrounded by dark and empty realization.

> To Tubbo,
> 
> I’m sorry.
> 
> Signed,
> 
> TommyInnit

No. No no no no  _ no no no  _ **_no_ ** . This couldn’t be real. It had been  _ months _ since he’d heard anything from Tommy, and any semblance of news about his best friend since exile had all been told to him second-hand, usually by Ghostbur or on the rare occasion, Dream. Why did the first time he finally hears from Tommy have to be like this?

Tubbo found his feet carrying him away from the scene he was in, his head reeling in thought too fast for him to really comprehend where he was going. His communicator was gripped tightly in his hand, occasionally glancing down at the screen just to check if the message was still there, to check it was  _ real _ . Every quick glimpse of the screen that confirmed the message was still there caused his speed to quicken just slightly until he was practically sprinting.

Passing Phil’s house, he saw Phil out of the corner of his eye, stood in his usual place on the porch. He brought his pace down to a jog and an eventual halt altogether as he did another glance up to Phil, who was looking back over at him with a slight look of discomfort.

Phil was usually a pretty calm guy, and even in the most uncomfortable of situations, he was able to find a calm composure, so seeing Phil with shoulders tensed and what seemed to be an uncomfortable smile was a bit of a shock. When he noticed Phil’s communicator in his hand, a sense of dread washed over him, threatening to crush him like a tidal wave.

The two stood in silence for longer than Tubbo liked to admit, knowing that the longer he stood there and did  _ nothing _ was more time spent away from trying to make sure Tommy was okay. The only sound around them was the gentle crashing of waves against the docks, not far from where they stood. Their gaze locked on one another, they had an entire conversation without saying a word to each other, despite both of their attempts to muster out something, mouths opening to say something but closing before anything could escape.

Finally, Phil’s smile cracked, and his face became one of panic, brows furrowed like he was lost in a storm of thoughts and anxiety. Tubbo nodded before turning and returning on his way, Phil gulping down the lump that had begun to form in his throat before following close behind. The beeping of the house arrest anklet that Tubbo had forced upon the other quickly drowned out by the white noise that filled the air around them.

Just short of the community portal, a familiar voice from behind them cut them off, both of them freezing in their tracks.

“Have you heard from Tommy as well?”

Phil couldn’t bring himself to turn around, knowing full well the hollow voice belonged to the shell of what remained of the son he’d killed at his own request. Wilbur had always been such a joy to him, a man of talent and vigor, and when he’d finally taken off, Phil  _ knew _ Will would be able to achieve great things. But when he found Will stood in a small room he’d carved out from underneath everything he’d worked so hard for, only a small button stood between him and complete and utter destruction of the livelihoods of not only himself but everyone around him, Phil knew that Wilbur had long since been dead.

The Wilbur he had known had died at the bottom of the ravine of Pogtopia, his body buried under the rubble of the L’Manberg that he’d created and effectively been exiled from. Even so, it didn’t hurt any less when he pushed the blade through the chest of his son. It didn’t hurt any less to hear the blood that raised in Will’s lungs gurgle in his throat as he tried to utter his last words of apology to his father. It didn’t hurt any less to feel the arms that had tightly wrapped around him in a hug go limp as the life drained from his body. It didn’t hurt any less to have to gently close Wilbur’s eyes with his hands as he choked back tears from the sight of the vast emptiness within, knowing he’d never be able to see that sparkle that shone in them whenever Phil reminded him how proud he was of him.

Tubbo recognized the tremble in Phil’s hands as he turned, choosing to face the pale ghost that Phil couldn’t find in him to face. Not today.

“We… We did,” Tubbo answered, trying with every ounce of energy he could muster to keep his composure and not let his voice waver. “I… We’re going to go check on him. It’s not like him.”

Ghostbur tilted his head slightly like a confused puppy. “What do you mean? He writes Ranboo letters all the time.”

There was a small hesitation before Tubbo answered, “Something is… off. Tommy doesn’t like to apologize unless he’s really on his last rope. He only apologized for burning down George’s house when he thought it would help him-”

The words felt like they were about to choke him. 

“He thought it would help him get to stay.”

Even in a translucent ghost form, Tubbo could see the features Wilbur and Tommy shared, and Tubbo quickly found himself turning away, back to the portal, trying to stop the image of the dead man beside him from morphing into the friend he’d put into exile.

“I need to go check on him,” Tubbo mustered, his voice finally slipping and waving as he spoke. He hoped, prayed even, that Tommy was okay, just sending out letters in an attempt to regain the trust of everyone and be let back into L’Manberg.

Ghostbur made a small noise, as though he was preparing to say something more, but said nothing. In silence, he slipped a piece of blue into Tubbo’s free hand.

Neither he nor Phil hesitated to enter the portal, almost stumbling over each other as they stepped foot into the heat of the Nether. Phil led the charge down the paths that pointed to Logstedshire, and Tubbo did nothing to stop the almost overwhelming sense of guilt that swelled in his stomach upon realizing that he didn’t know which direction to go to even get to Logstedshire. The two bolted down the path, Tubbo not caring for his safety as he sped around bends recklessly. He didn’t seem to notice when Phil slowed down, coming to a halt just short of the sign Tommy had placed, “LOGSTEDSHIRE. POPULATION: 1.” Almost speeding past him, Phil managed to grab him by the collar just in time, looking off in another direction.

“Wait,” the words came out almost a hoarse whisper, sounding so unlike Phil that Tubbo could’ve sworn it was an entirely different person speaking. He raised a pointed hand up, pointing off to something just around the corner the path took them down, as his other hand dropped the grasp on Tubbo’s suit collar.

Tubbo raised an eyebrow in confusion. The portal into Logstedshire must not be that far off by now, right? Why had they stopped just shy of it? When he followed the direction Phil pointed off to, he knew why.

There was a small little wooden ledge that was crudely constructed against the cliff of netherrack, extending out over a pit of lava below, and right on the edge before the dropping point, something small and purple glowed against a tiny bundle of fabric. At that moment, Tubbo felt every single hope he’d been clinging onto so desperately slip through his grasp as the reality of the situation hit him.

He practically pushed Phil aside as he ran past, his shaky legs carrying him the distance just to give out underneath him as he stood at the base of the bridge that led to nowhere. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to accept it as true. There was  _ no way _ . It  _ couldn’t _ be real. Surely not. Tommy wouldn’t… would he?

The words engraved into the purple glow that radiated off the small piece of metal, nestled carefully in the green bundle of fabric, was all he needed to know that it was all too painfully real.

_ Your Tubbo _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to ramp up stuff as I get ready to PROPERLY dive into what I have planned. Next chapter will go back to focusing on Tommy.
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying this so far! Feedback is much appreciated.


	3. There Is No "Home" Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy wakes up, not expecting to wake up at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- Trigger Warnings:  
> death and suicide (mentioned and implied heavily)  
> fire (mentioned)  
> burns (implied and mentioned, lightly described)  
> self-hatred (implied)
> 
> Proceed with caution - stay safe y'all.
> 
> \- - Note:  
> My description of the afterlife is heavily inspired by "The Things We Used to Share" by trASHcantwrite, sorry about that. I'm hoping to go into it more in the next chapter.

The first thing that returned to Tommy was his sense of hearing, accompanied by the dull buzzing that came from every direction. Though when it first arrived, the buzzing was more of a shrill ringing that almost hurt to listen to, it quickly became more of a low droning.

The next thing that returned was his sense of taste. It was an odd sensation, to say the least. The back of his throat tingled, and the entirety of his mouth had a slight burn to it like he had just started to get over the spice of eating a chili pepper.

His sight came next, but as the area around him slowly came into focus as his eyes adjusted, he was almost positive that what he was seeing couldn’t possibly be reality. Inky blackness stretched away from him in every direction, no end in sight. There were, however, small little balls of light that floated serenely around him in the void he had found himself in. Though there didn’t seem to be any discernible pattern to how they spaced themselves apart from one another, a glance around him told him that they didn’t seem to stray far from his where he was. They all stuck close to him, gathered in the corner of emptiness with him.

With nothing else to occupy him in the expansive void, Tommy let his gaze fixate onto them, observing their movements as they floated from one location to the next, almost in some sort of choreographed dance. He watched their waltz intently, focus floating from one to another whenever their paths crossed. However, when one of the small lights came to an almost complete halt next to something unlike the rest, his focus shifted to it and stayed in place as the light continued on its merry. Amongst the dancing lights was what looked to him like a small cube, a blue light pulsing from within in an almost tired fashion. The small pulse of color was so dull in comparison to the lights that he had barely noticed it. It probably hadn’t helped that the cube seemed completely motionless, stuck in perpetuity in its placement in the darkness.

He reached out a hand to try and touch it, some part of him just curious to see if he could in the first place, but another smaller part of him hoping to take it away from where it was. Looking at it sent a sharp pain up his chest like the small shape was… lonely. Bringing his hand up, though, he came to realize that his normal pale complexion was gone, replaced by a bright and angry red adorned with vibrant and almost glowing orange cracks that cascaded up and down his arms. The transition from his wrist to his fingertips was ashen and dull, and his fingers were blackened and charred.

And then, his next sense returned to him: feeling.

He felt every inch of his entire body scream in agony, the pain so unbearably intense in the blink of an eye that he was completely immobile, stuck staring at the cracks  _ burnt _ into his flesh. His body felt like it was on fire, and for all he knew, it was. The red of his skin flickered with the same passion and intensity of a raging fire that took everything with it, and as the realization began to dawn over him, the pain slowly began to subside.

This was death.

He could almost  _ feel _ the blood that boiled under the surface of his skin like the lava he had dived face-first into, and once the pain had completely escaped him, he was left with nothing but the warmth that coursed through him.

As he went to give himself a quick look-over, contorting his body to the best of his ability, Tommy realized that he was floating. It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise to him, as he knew Ghostbur floated as well, but-

...Ghostbur.

_ Am I… a ghost as well? _ he found himself thinking.

The thought split him, his thoughts quickly shifting to fight one side from another. He didn’t  _ want _ to come back as a ghost, and he’d thrown himself into his death with the hopes that he  _ wouldn’t _ . He wanted to enter the afterlife as quickly as he could so he wouldn’t have to continue with the charades that everyone had been putting him through. Coming back as a ghost meant seeing the faces of the “friends” he’d purposefully tried to leave behind. On the other hand, however, it could give him some kind of closure. He couldn’t visit anyone he cared about to say goodbye under the fear of what Dream could do to him. As a ghost, he wouldn’t need to worry about that anymore, and he could do whatever he wanted…

As long as he could remember. Would he be forced into the same confines that Wilbur had been given when he appeared as a ghost? Would he be forced to forget everything that had mattered to him? Would he be just as oblivious to the discomfort he’d put people through just by existing around them? Would he be a completely different person?

...Maybe if he  _ did _ become a ghost, he could just let himself wander far, far away, so he wouldn’t have to bother anyone ever again.

Tommy let out a frustrated huff, trying not to take notice of how his breath was a heavy steam that dissipated into the void. He turned to look back at the lights’ display but quickly found his sight landing on something else entirely. Another cube, much like the blue one, except emanating a deep red hue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a short one, so I figured it couldn't hurt to throw it onto the fic the same day as the previous chapter.
> 
> Hopefully, I'll be able to ramp up the length of the next chapter to make up for the shortness of this one!
> 
> I wonder if anyone will be able to figure out what the lights (and the cubes) mean before I lay it all out. ;)


	4. What Happened to "No Strings Attached"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy gets fed up with staring at the only thing the afterlife has provided him and longs for a change of scenery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- Trigger Warnings:  
> drowning (briefly mentioned)  
> death  
> self-hatred (implied) and self-degradation  
> difficulty controlling negative emotions/general lack of control (described in detail)  
> panic attacks (implied but also described)  
> wishing [emotional] pain onto others (briefly mentioned and described)  
> manipulation (implied, briefly mentioned)  
> loss of connection with reality (described heavily)
> 
> This chapter focuses on Tommy exploring what the "lights" are and what they could mean for him, all while dealing with the pent up anger and frustration that ate away inside him while he was still alive.  
> Proceed with caution - stay safe, y'all.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been stuck there, floating aimlessly in the darkness of the void with nothing to amuse him but the almost hypnotic movements of the small lights that floated alongside him, never seeming to notice his presence, but Tommy had quickly grown bored of the space he was in. Watching the lights dance around, almost carefree, was calming to an extent, but there was something about them that filled him with an emotion that he couldn’t quite describe - a strange mixture of longing to be a star alongside them, curiosity to know what they were and what they meant, anger towards the way it felt like they mocked him in what should’ve been his peaceful after…

Whether it had been minutes, hours, or days, he couldn’t tell. There was nothing to indicate any sort of passage of time, nothing that could nod him in the direction of how long he’d been there - or how long he was going to continue stuck there, for that matter.

“I’ve got to find something to do that isn’t just staring at these fucking lights,” Tommy said he let out a frustrated huff, rolling his eyes in annoyance as a pair gently sauntered by him. He twisted his body around awkwardly, still not quite used to how movement worked as a floating being, and looked off into the pitch-black void, stretching out endlessly in front of him. There had to be  _ something _ out there he could find, right? Even if there wasn’t, he could walk - err, float - in any direction for as long as he felt like before he could just turn towards another direction and continue again.

At the first thought of movement, almost as though the void around him had sensed the thought and complied, Tommy felt the soles of his shoes plant solidly on ground. He hadn’t felt anything to indicate he had fallen, and the lack of any indication for the existence of some sort of surface definitely threw him off. He stood in place for a moment, giving the lights a glance before his line of sight rested back onto the small red cube again. It had stayed completely static in its position, and the small light that continued to hum was still pulsing ever so gently from the inside. Every time he acknowledged the small shape’s existence, he felt a pure, unbridled  _ rage _ begin to make its way throughout his entire being. The fact that he couldn’t figure out  _ why _ just made it even worse.

He needed to get away from it.

The first few steps were, predictably, uneasy and rather uncoordinated, but it didn’t take Tommy long to adjust to walking without any floor below him. Once confident enough in his strides, he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his torn and tattered jeans and left his thoughts to wander just as he did into the endless void. However, he wasn’t able to let his mind travel very far, as it didn’t take him long to somehow return to where he had left.

The lights were still doing their dance as they traveled around with seemingly no purpose, and just as before, a majority of them were gathered towards what seemed to be the center, where Tommy had first found himself when he awoke. The cubes were still in their same positions as they’d always been.

How was he already back here?

Tommy turned, looking back into the direction he’d come from, only to be greeted by more of the endless darkness he thought he’d walked himself into.

“...Strange,” he commented, knowing there was no one around to pry into the meaning of his words.

A second round wouldn’t hurt.

He spun around into another random direction and took off, letting himself focus on his hands in his pockets as he fiddled mindlessly with loose threads from the fabric. It didn’t take him long to himself once again back in the same place, but this time, he noticed something he’d overlooked before: He had returned to the same place he’d left from around, as though he’d walked away, made a 180-degree spin, and walked directly back. He wasn’t on the opposite side of the positions of everything, he had simply come back to the exact place he’d left from.

Before he could even begin to try and think of some kind of reasoning, some kind of  _ excuse _ for why this was happening, the fury in his chest swelled and took over him. The cracks in his skin that glowed faintly from the heat below the surface began to radiate brighter as he felt everything surge over him, and if he had been paying them any attention, he might’ve thought the cracks would’ve burst open and spilled molten lava over him. The blackened tips of his fingers quickly escalated to a burning sensation, similar to the sting of touching a still-hot pan after removing it from its place over a flame. The frenzy inside him felt like it was eating away at his insides, his breathing warm in his throat and his lungs felt like he had tried to run a mile while holding his breath. He felt himself curl up into himself in a fetal position, his feet lifting off the ground to pull himself into a floating ball of uncontrollable anger, and as he tried to grab at what was once his fluffy golden locks, he found his hair smoldering and burning lightly against the already scorched palms of his hands.

_ Why? Why can’t I just figure this out? _ his thoughts were like knives against the inside of his skull, trying to cut away whatever they could to escape him. He was furious, and he wasn’t entirely sure at  _ what. _ Perhaps it was the lack of any answers or clarity that this space provided him, just leaving him feeling lonely and confused. Perhaps it was that he felt stuck with no possible way to remove himself - this afterlife was where he was now, and he couldn’t just  _ leave _ like how he had done his life of suffering before. Perhaps it was that he found it even harder here to accept the truth that he was  _ dead _ , and there was  _ no _ coming back anymore.  _ I just wanted peace. I just wanted to finally be okay. But it’s not okay. Nothing is okay. Why can’t I figure this out?! Calm down. I… I need to calm down. _

Tommy slowly released his grip from his head and brought his shaky hands to his chest. He took a deep breath in,  _ Ten _ , before shakily and slowly releasing it. He did it again,  _ Nine _ , as he let his chest rise against his hands. He repeated it until he finished his count down to one. He could still feel the warmth of anger that bubbled deep in his stomach, but the absolute fury that had overtaken him had - for the most part - subsided.

When he finally found himself calm enough to return his gaze up to the display before him, the ache in his chest that he had tried to pretend didn’t exist finally made itself known, unable to be pushed aside any longer. What  _ were _ the lights? Were they just there to mock him?

His left arm stayed in place against his chest as he extended out his right hand to the closest light he could reach, and as it made contact, everything turned a blinding white.

What was once a light now showed itself to be a pink blob of some kind, a golden crown rested atop it. No matter how hard Tommy tried to focus his vision into whatever he was touching, it stayed a blur amongst the vibrant white that the void around him had become. Extending from the mass against his hand were numerous strings in an assortment of colors that connected the pink blob with others that were scattered about, all in place of where other lights had been just moments before. A strand of orange connected the pink shape with what seemed to look like a heart of some kind not much of a distance away; a deep blue string connected it with a yellow and black shape (that he could only assume was a bee) just farther off; what seemed to be a halo atop a pale pink mass connected back to the pink by Tommy’s hand with a pale yellow string.

After the shock that had washed over him at the change of scenery had dissipated, Tommy noticed a small humming emanating from  _ somewhere _ in this new space. It was deep and low, almost familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

He chose to shrug off the worry that nagged at the back of this head as the shapes continued to move about the space, watching the colorful strands that connected them to the one Tommy felt gently pressed up against him crossing and weaving around each other but never tangling. He was almost completely unaware of the presence of the crowned mass below him inching ever so slowly away from his touch until he was far enough away for the strings to disappear, the shapes morphing quickly back into the small lights against the everpresent black void. The sudden change felt printed against the inside of his eyes, each blink showing him the ghost of the previous scene like a double-exposed photograph.

Without really thinking about it, Tommy reached out and touched another light as it floated past, bringing him back into the white space. The shape that was now pressed gently against his hand was a blob of stark black and white with most of the strings that extended from it a plain grey tone. A blue string connected it with an orange shape that stood amongst a handful of other masses near the center, and two strands of yellow connected it with familiar shapes - the heart-esque shape and the crowned pink one he’d just looked over.

Just as before, there was a strange hum that almost seemed to be coming from every direction, the pitch slightly higher than the previous. It was just slightly louder and seemed to echo with the feeling of worry, and again Tommy felt that nagging feeling that he  _ knew _ what it was, the answer narrowly escaping him. 

The colorful scene around him seemed to blur together as he pulled all his focus onto the hum, willing the incomprehensible murmur to slowly morph itself into a low mumble, the words barely audible but present enough to form some sort of coherence.

Recognition hit Tommy  _ hard _ , like a sharp elbow to the center of his chest, as he was able to string the words together into a full thought in a voice that he knew to belong to  _ Ranboo _ .

“I’ll just leave it in the same place as before, like always. I’m sure he’s just… under a lot of stress. I can’t really blame him, I guess. I don’t know what I’d do if-”

As the shape pressed against Tommy’s hand drifted away from his touch along, continuing the route it was on, the bands of colorful lights and obscured, fuzzy images disappeared and the sea of white swapped itself back to black. In that same instance, Ranboo’s voice cut off sharply, and Tommy wasn’t sure if the echo he heard as Ranboo’s voice came to a screeching halt was real or if he had just imagined it.

There were thousands of questions that arose within Tommy at that moment, but the only one that could escape him as he tried to process what he was witnessing was simply, “Is this…  _ real _ ?”

The void provided him no answer.

He absent-mindedly made his way closer to the center, towards where a large majority of the lights gathered and roamed. A shaky hand extended out to them -  _ when did he start shaking? _ \- and brushed over them, watching passively as the colorful lines that connected one another flashed around his vision at the lightest touch. The amazement that had hit Tommy upon his discovery was gone, the high that had struck him with wild curiosity had dissipated, and he was left with nothing. He let his hands skim around the gathering of lights, passing barely over them, just enough to create the connection that brought the fuzzy image of whoever they were into his sight before his touch had passed onto the next, not letting the voice of  _ whoever _ the light was supposed to resemble ring out when it had the window to.

Tommy had gotten what he wanted.

Tommy didn’t have to be stuck in his exile - he was no longer forced to the confines of Logstedshire with the reigns around his neck that had been placed there by Dream, each passing day slowly tightening the grip around his throat until it had become a noose; he was no longer forcing himself to work himself practically down to the bone each and every day in a pathetic attempt to scrape together something -  _ anything _ \- to make armor or tools with, just to have to hand over his work and watch them be destroyed before him; he was no longer living off of what was essentially bread crumbs, trying to make up for the lack of food in his system with pathetic attempts at sleeping that inevitably resulted in him waking to the feeling of salt water filling his lungs; he no longer had to try and convince himself that those who tried to reach out to him were doing it out of pity or the want for some strange kind of clout, turning away gifts that seemed “too good to be true” since he  _ knew _ he wouldn’t be able to repay them while simultaneously avoiding visitors when there was nothing more he really wanted them for someone to  _ be there _ with him and not just  _ visit _ ; he no longer had to worry about how each day was becoming more and more of a struggle for him, and with no end of exile in sight, he wasn’t sure if he would make it to the point of going back  _ home _ .

He had gotten what he wanted - he was gone.

… Then why did he feel so incredibly empty?

There was no sense of satisfaction, nothing that told him what he had done was the right or wrong choice. There was no one waiting there to go over everything he’d gone through and help him through it, allowing him to finally rest easy. There was nothing that waited for him there in the emptiness of the afterlife except for a display that encapsulated everyone he had brought himself to leave behind. Even in exile, he hadn’t yearned for the company of another person quite as much as he did at that moment.

When he felt the small pricks of tears in the corners of his eyes, the misery that had begun to dig into his ribcage began to contort violently.

Of course he had done what he did.  _ He had to _ . No one had bothered to help him, no one bothered to even  _ try _ . The “gifts” that had been left for him weren’t so he could advance to a point where he would be able to help himself, they were just whatever junk they had that they didn’t have a use or space for. If anyone really tried, really  _ cared _ , he could’ve found some way to get  _ home _ . Instead, he had been forced to stay out in the wild, thousands of miles away from everyone and anything he’d ever cared about, starting life over, completely from scratch, with the only true constants in his life - no, in his  _ struggle _ \- being the threat of death around every corner and with it, Dream himself.

He was dead, and he hoped that everyone who could piece together his “disappearance” felt ashamed of themselves.

Maybe it was the heat that was building up inside his chest like a fire about to reach the point of flashover, sending pure hatred through his veins and circulating it through his whole body, but he wanted  _ everyone  _ to feel as  _ shitty _ as  _ he did _ . Tommy had done more than his fair share of suffering at the hands of others, and he was  _ dead _ now because of it.

Before he could take any action to attempt and calm the flames inside him, Tommy felt it about to rush out of him. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as could, trying to force the lights away from himself, even if just behind closed lids, and brought his hands to his chest as his breathing began to pick up pace again.

The silence around him was too much, almost deafening in the complete and utter lack of sound. Without any other thought put into it, Tommy felt himself screaming.

He screamed, every passing moment letting the fury that had made his body a home escape him until his form couldn’t scream anymore. He kept his eyes locked shut, hoping the tears that had welled up in the back of his eyes would stay put if he didn’t allow them a route of escape, but once the ringing that had settled in his ears had faded away and he was greeted by an all too familiar sound, he let his eyes slowly flicker open.

The endless ocean of darkness that had extended out infinitely before him was gone, and in its place was the familiar sight of log walls, stripped of its rough bark exterior. The lights were nowhere to be seen, replaced by a neatly arranged stack of barrels, most of which had labels neatly attached to the lid. Glancing over his shoulder behind him granted him the view inside a small but comfortable looking dark blue tent, as well as a small handful of notes stuck up to the walls just beyond the tent, each reading out some sort of action that he had once planned to achieve.

He was in Logstedshire.

There was nowhere else that homed the same perfect combination of calm waves crashing on the shore and gentle winds blew in from every direction that brought with it the songs of birds going about their lives within the forest just moments away.

The heat under the surface of his skin began to quell, just a mild warm that simmered deep within him, as he glanced over what he had left behind of his home. He moved towards the walls with an outstretched arm, his ghost walking forward without any contact with the floor just as he had before. Rather than the familiar roughness of the surface of the walls that he was hoping for, his hand phased directly through the material without any contact.

Of course.

He let out a small sigh, continuing around the open base. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was just as he had left it. He was glad that no one had come to try and “visit” him again in his “absence,” leaving what remained of Logstedshire as a relic in time. Maybe this was just his memory of the base, and it was just some sort of illusion to calm him down, but Tommy knew he didn’t care what was true at that moment. It was nice to finally have some change of scenery, something that was empty and endless in every possible direction.

A small sigh escaped him, a small cloud of steam rushing from his lips, but the peace didn’t last.

The gentle chorus that rose from the nature all around was interrupted by a piercing scream from somewhere on the other side of Logstedshire, calling out his name with a tone that echoed fury and fear all at once.

_ Dream _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my longest one yet, but... it also kind of feels sort of like the weakest one yet, if I'm honest. I struggled with this one. (It probably doesn't help that I've had a bit of an energy- and mental health-slump over the past few days, which really delayed this chapter.) Still, I hope you guys are enjoying this as much as I'm enjoying writing it.  
> I know it's definitely been a slow start, but I promise, it's about to ramp up soon!
> 
> If you guys have any suggestions for how I could spice this fic up or just make it better in general, feel free to comment! Constructive criticism is very much welcomed, as it's been a good while since I've really written anything (and even longer since I've written something I felt good enough to post, haha).  
> I've gone back through the previous chapters and made some (very small!) edits here and there to fix the overall quality as well, and hopefully, I can keep that quality throughout to the end.
> 
> Thank you all for reading so far, and thank you to each and every one of you who have left kudos! It's very much appreciated, even if I'm not entirely sure what kudos do yet. Thank you all so much!


	5. I Won't Let You Hold Me Responsible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream needs control. Sometimes, this means making the rules for others, or drawing the line in the sand in a fight. But right now, that means making sure with 100% certainty that he isn't being lied to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- Trigger Warnings:  
> paranoia about death/murder (discussed heavily in the beginning)  
> heavy passive aggression  
> death/suicide (implied during discussion)  
> purposeful manipulation and gaslighting (mentioned frequently)
> 
> This chapter focuses on Dream's perspective on things. It goes (slightly) into why he's doing what he's doing, which includes manipulation and gaslighting.  
> This chapter is, in a sense, skippable! It provides context for actions and behaviors in the next chapter, but if you find any of this will make you uncomfortable, feel free to skip over it to the next.  
> Stay safe y'all.

As much as Dream liked resting, he valued his life much more than a few hours of missed sleep. He was always moving, never staying in one spot for any longer than he really needed to. To him, there wasn’t really a  _ need _ to set up a base anywhere anyways - he kept an ender chest with him at all times so if the need to make any particular kind of tool or item arose, he could easily have just about any material he would need readily available. Anything he wasn’t actively using but was still of some use to him could get stored away, only accessible by himself. Any items that couldn’t fit in the chest weren’t worth keeping either way - just another attachment to shed.

Homes, items, tools… They were all replaceable.  _ Life _ was not.

He wasn’t dumb. Dream was the most powerful being on the server, his combat abilities only rivaled by one among the many that dwelled within his realm, and he made sure to let  _ everyone _ know of the raw strength he held at his fingertips at every chance he got.

Having that much power, he was sure to make some enemies. It was nothing he couldn’t handle, of course, but being asleep meant he was  _ vulnerable _ . There were a select few Dream had elected to earn his trust over the years, but there were even fewer that he would trust to guard him at his weakest state. As such, he’d grown accustomed to being a light sleeper.

When his communicator let out a small  _ ding _ , he shot up in his sleep, fists immediately readying into a fighting stance. The dying light from the torch placed in the corner of the makeshift room barely lit his surroundings, his gaze quickly finding its way to the glow of his communicator, tossed haphazardly beside him onto his cot. If he remembered correctly, he had fallen asleep not long after messaging George to ask how things seemed to be going in L’Manberg. In all honesty, he didn’t  _ care _ how L’Manberg was, nor the people who resided inside it, but he knew George wouldn’t lie to him. If Tommy had  _ somehow _ snuck into L’Manberg during the small gap of time between his departure from the pathetic base Tommy had declared “Logstedshire” to getting to where he currently found himself, George would let him know. That’s all Dream cared about - making sure Tommy was safely right where he  _ needed _ to be.

A small exasperated sigh escaped him, knowing that he was already too awake to find himself drifting back off to sleep. Did he really need to lose a few hours of sleep to some dumbass ( _ probably Technoblade _ ) with no sense of a sleeping schedule to message him as whatever ungodly hour it was?

Apparently.

Dream shifted slightly and grabbed the communicator, practically hissing when the bright glow of the screen hit his tired eyes. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, slowly absorbing in the message as he was able to piece together what it said in his tired haze.

> To Dream,
> 
> Thank you for visiting me every day.
> 
> I’m sorry I don’t have much more to offer you as thanks.
> 
> I shouldn’t be causing you or anyone else much trouble anymore.
> 
> Signed,
> 
> TommyInnit

Once it had gone through his head a few times and he was able to fully process the message, Dream couldn’t help but laugh, a sense of exhausted disbelief. Part of him was impressed - an  _ apology _ from the  _ ever egotistical _ and  _ proud _ Tommy-fucking-Innit! - another part was… skeptical to say the least.

Sure, he’d probably kept Tommy in exile for much longer than was needed at this point. Yeah, maybe he could’ve let Tommy actually gather supplies for a few days at a time rather than quite literally destroying  _ everything _ he worked on during  _ each _ of his daily visits. And okay, he wasn’t always the most  _ generous _ at providing Tommy rations, but if he was  _ really _ starving, he would’ve said something - Tommy loved to never shut up, after all.

It had only been a handful of months, but it was starting to seem like Tommy was getting desperate. If he was really apologizing to him, then maybe he actually meant it this time, which would probably mean he hoped to - or even expected to - return to L’Manberg soon.

If Dream had his way, Tommy would fuck up something again, giving him a reason to forcibly extend the boy’s stay in exile. Luckily, Dream was  _ very _ convincing. He was sure he could find  _ something _ to frame the kid for - it couldn’t be that hard. Plus, the last few times he’d gone to “visit” Tommy, he’d actually called Dream his “friend.” It probably wouldn’t be too hard to trick him into thinking he  _ did  _ do something wrong at that point.

It was all just too easy.

Another small chuckle escaped him as he rose from his bed. He might as well head over to Logstedshire early - he could plan whatever he needed to on the hike up.

With the mask slapped back into place, it didn’t take long to pack up the materials and items he’d left out from the night before, and within a few minutes, he had cleaned the makeshift room he’d carved out of the base of a mountain and almost completely filled it back in with materials, as though he’d never been there in the first place. He dug through the wall he knew to lead outside and let a frustrated groan escape him as he observed the barely visible skyline. What wasn’t obscured by the massive forest of massive spruce trees was a deep violet with small accents of maroons and oranges.

Tommy  _ really _ had to go and bother him before  _ sunrise _ , huh? Figures.

With the last of his temporary hidey-hole re-covered and hidden away, Dream set out to Logstedshire. The previous day, he had walked from the sandy beaches to the snowy tundra in which Technoblade had hidden himself away within for whatever “retirement” he had planned for himself, turned to a random direction, and kept going. From there, he let himself walk until he hit another beach, crossed the body of water in the same direction, and kept going until he found a suitable location for his base. He knew the direction he had gone, it wouldn’t be too hard for him to trace his own steps and return by the time Tommy awoke, and the trek back would give him enough time to scheme  _ something _ .

Amidst his scheming, Dream occasionally let his mind wander. He could imagine with ease the look Tommy would give him when he would arrive, he had successfully broken the kid down into a mass of utter predictability. He could imagine the worried scrunch of brows that would release into a look of relief and excitement as Tommy bounds up like an excited puppy, tossing him everything he had without a hitch. After all, Tommy had finally learned that the less time he wasted handing over his valuables, the more time he got to spend with his “good friend, Dream!”  _ What a joke _ .

Once he found himself about knee-deep in the snow that surrounded Techno’s base, Dream was confident in the plan he’d hatched. It screamed Tommy all over it, and it was bad enough to surely convince Tubbo to extend the exile against his best friend - as if he really had a choice in the matter anyway. If the kid really tried to argue with him, then who knows, maybe he could find a way to sneak into the equation a way to con Tubbo out of Tommy’s disc.

When the citizens of the Dream SMP wake up tomorrow, they’d all be just as shocked as he would pretend to be when they discover the rubble and remains of what was once the Community House. It wouldn’t be hard to feign the devastation, after all, he had helped erect the building from nothing alongside some of his closest friends. Even so, the quicker he got rid of the only thing tying him back to coming back there, the better it was for him. He couldn’t have any attachments. Severing the connection this way would be  _ much _ more satisfying, anyway.

Dream continued his trek, but as he passed the familiar landmark of a tree into the roots of which he’d slashed open, his communicator let out a small noise to alert him to an incoming message. He knew Logstedshire was just over the hill, so he let himself take a quick moment to check it. Pulling the device from the pocket of his hoodie, however, another ding let off, quickly followed by another and another.

The mild frustration he held at that moment escaped him, turning to a mix of light anxiety and curiosity. It was rare for people to send him notes unless he reached out first, and he didn’t blame anyone for that - he had striven to be as intimidating as he possibly could, after all - but getting a wave of four messages back to back was even more unusual.

> **Philza:** Dream.
> 
> **Philza:** Where are you?
> 
> **Philza:** We need to talk.
> 
> **Philza:** Come to L’Manberg.

A groan escaped him, knowing Logstedshire was barely a hop, skip, and a jump away from where he stood. It was just over an hour past sunrise, and if he really needed to, he could make the trip to L’Manberg and back by noon, the time he usually showed up to check on Tommy’s progress. Tommy hadn’t seen his arrival yet, either, so he wasn’t exactly obligated to stick around for the boy.

> **Dream:** On my way.
> 
> **Dream:** What’s this about?
> 
> **Philza:** I’d rather wait til you’re here to explain.

If Phil was really going to choose to be vague with  _ him _ , then Dream decided he’d take his sweet time. He wouldn’t sneak through the portal in Logstedshire to hurry his way over, opting to take the journey back in person. If it was really as important as Phil was trying to make it seem, then he could just send another message, telling him to hurry up.

Once he arrived back in the familiar lands of the SMP, a chill washed over him. The sun was shining high, the sky was almost entirely clear of clouds. The waves that lapped against the support beams of the dock were calm, and even the gentle breeze didn’t seem to carry any worry with it. Then why did the air seem to feel so thick, dread hanging in the atmosphere? The feeling of something, he wasn’t sure what, being off kept him on his toes - more so than usual.

**Dream:** I’m by the Community House.

**Philza:** Could you meet me at the white house in lmanberg?

**Dream:** I guess.

**Philza:** Appreciate it, mate.

Dream heard the wails and screams as he approached the building Phil had asked to meet in. Leaned up in a ball against the wall by the entrance was Fundy, his legs pulled to his chest and his face hidden behind his knees. The boy didn’t give a look up Dream as he passed, choosing to remain silent under the black cap that covered and masked any emotion that could’ve been on his face.

The wails behind the double doors were  _ awful _ , digging into his brain like sharpened claws with the painful fury of a tortured animal. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring at the handle behind his emotionless mask, before he finally turned the handle and brought himself inside. The pressure that bore down inside was immense, and any kind of anxiety he could’ve felt outside increased tenfold as multiple pairs of eyes quickly found themselves drawn to him.

In the middle of the room was Tubbo, curled up in a fetal position, back to Dream’s direction. He was shaking intensely, and it became quickly apparent that the sounds that erupted from within the building were from the violent sobs that shook his whole body with every sharp breath. Phil was squatted down beside him, one of what remained of his tattered and destroyed wings draped around the boy in some form of protection or comfort. His eyes barely turned to him from under the striped bucket hat he was always seen wearing, most of the color drained from his normally vibrant blue irises. It seemed just a nod of acknowledgment at Dream’s presence was good enough for the man, as he didn’t let his gaze stay on him for long before turning back to Tubbo. Opposite Phil was Nikki, rubbing Tubbo’s back in a sort of a protective parental manner. Her eyes darted up at the presence of Dream, and it was clear in her face what she was feeling. He recognized the way the emotions tacked onto her face, it was the same look of hurt and confusion that she wore as the grounds of L’Manberg bucked below the inauguration of Tubbo as explosives went off in every direction.

Just off to the side, a few steps away from the three, was Quackity, who had been pacing feverishly back and forth along the length of one of the room’s walls. Just as the door clicked audibly shut behind the arrival of Dream, Quackity spun around to face him. The happy-go-lucky smile that Dream associated with the other was gone, leaving an expression so unfamiliar on Quackity that he simply didn’t know how to read it. When their gazes met, the sight of Dream’s mask, taunting an empty smile at the room, Quackity’s brows furrowed deeper than they already were, nose scrunched up in rage and disgust as he desperately tried to bite his tongue and hold back whatever he wanted to let loose at the green-clad man before him.

The four existed in the space, letting the tensity of the air settle before anyone chose to speak up. Before the pressure had fully dissipated, however, Dream found himself breaking the silence and letting the discomfort quickly surge back in.

“Why did you call me here, Phil?”

Phil and Nikki’s eyes met, and in a sort of unspoken agreement, Phil brought himself to his feet as Nikki continued her attempts at soothing Tubbo’s sobs. Phil took his hand in his hands and nodded to a door that led off to another space in the building. “Can I talk to you for a moment, just us?”

Dream didn’t answer, choosing to step into the hallway behind the door as Phil followed in silence. Phil led the other to another room and waited for Dream to enter before closing the door and letting out a shaky sigh.

“Have you… Have you heard from Tommy?” the blond man asked, using all the strength he could muster to not allow his voice to quake.

Dream tilted his head questioningly as he answered, “Yeah, why?”

Phil’s eyes looked up from where they had settled on the wooden floor below, “What did he say?”

“Some shit thanking me for visiting, telling me he wouldn’t cause problems anymore,” Dream returned, exasperation turning to frustration as he spoke. He wasn’t getting anywhere with this conversation. He snapped his question back at Phil again, “ _ Why _ ?”

Phil tried to hold back the wave in his voice as he spoke, a tear breaking through the barrier he’d been doing his best to hold up instead himself, “He sent out a few messages, and… Dream, Tommy’s  _ gone _ .”

Suddenly, the world around the two seemed to collapse, the two stood alone together in an empty space. The sound of Tubbo’s screams and cries were gone, replaced by the buzz of empty realization.

_ I shouldn’t be causing you or anyone else much trouble anymore _ .

He wasn’t asking to be let back into L’Manberg.

Tommy was trying to find peace.

How could he have been so  _ stupid _ ? Of  _ course _ , this happened. There had been more times than he could count on his hands that Dream had caught Tommy staring into the orange glow in the Nether, but after the time that he’d been forced to interfere with whatever Tommy was thinking, he’d just assumed that Tommy had accepted his fate as an exile. There was a small surge of guilt that rose over him, but it quickly morphed into a wall of bubbling anger.

Tommy was  _ safe _ in exile. He didn’t have any outside influence from anyone except for Dream, and that’s just how the man had liked it. Tommy wasn’t happy, but Dream didn’t care about his happiness. As long as he knew where he was, knew he was safe, knew he could exist there without the influence of anyone who could interfere with the grand plans Dream had, then  _ everything. Was. Fine. _

“How do you know?” Dream returned, sounding harsher than he meant to but intent on finding an answer. “How do you know he hasn’t just… left, run away somewhere?”

Phil’s face shifted into a pathetic smile, a feeling of sorrow in his gut. “We found what he left behind. We read the messages he’d sent us. I…”

He choked on his words for a second, turning away from Dream’s gaze as a small sob escaped him. “I may have been a shit dad to him, I know that much, but I still knew Tommy well enough to know when he’d given up.”

Dream didn’t want to comfort Phil at that moment. No, he needed to know for sure. He  _ needed _ to, otherwise, everything he’d planned and worked so hard for for  _ months _ had been for  _ nothing _ , and he’d need to figure out some way to completely start from scratch without wasting away what he’d already been able to do. He left Phil in that room to wallow, moving past him and down the hall. He didn’t pause to acknowledge the still completely broken Tubbo crumpled on the floor, a sobbing mess. When Quackity stepped up in front of him, blocking his path, he felt his fists tighten as he forced to stop.

“What the  _ fuck _ , man?!” Quackity yelled, arms raised as though he was waiting for Dream to drop something for him, something to answer the questions everyone seemed to have. “You said you were checking up on him! You  _ said _ he was doing  _ fine _ ! ‘He doesn’t want visitors,’ ‘He wants to be alone today,’ ‘He’s in a bad mood so I wouldn’t go see him,’ were they all  _ lies _ ? We all trusted you to make sure he was okay - he was  _ just a kid _ !”

Quackity looked at him with a face that screamed with rage, but behind his eyes, Dream could see how scared he was. It left a feeling of accomplishment in his chest, knowing that Quackity was still fearful of him. He brushed the feeling aside to bluntly demand, “Step aside, Quackity.”

Quackity did as he was told, slinking back to the side of the room before moving to Tubbo and Niki’s side, and Dream was off. He didn’t stop for anything, sprinting to the community portal. Once on the other side, he continued his dash along the path that led to Logstedshire, expertly avoiding every hole or hurdle as though he’d memorized it. He pushed through the heat of the Nether, ignoring the sweat that clung to his oversized hoodie and the sting in his lungs with every intake of stale Nether air that reeked of brimstone and ash.

He almost completely fell to his knees once he managed to get through the second portal into Logstedshire, stumbling slightly as he desperately looked around. “Tommy?”

First things first: check his tent.

Nothing. The bed was messy, but in the same sense it always was. The photo of the Queen was still delicately hung up against the tent’s canvas walls, and his chest of items didn’t seem to have any missing items. No sign of Tommy.

“Tommy!”

Next: the storage building he’d made.

The chests were just as messy as they always were, and the space was empty of all life.

The last place was the main base of Logstedshire.

“TOMMY!”

Dream didn’t know  _ why _ he was running, but he was. He almost tripped on a patch of grass, barely catching himself as he sprinted into the ugly log base.

“TOM-”

“...Dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled to figure out how I was going to write the next part, and I sort of realized that it probably wouldn't make much sense without insight into Dream's perspective on the situation.  
> I thought it would be fun to write more than just one chapter in a character's perspective that wasn't just Tommy's, too. It was interesting to write Ch.2 from Tubbo's POV, so... I expect this will be a thing I continue doing, hah. Every few chapters will probably include a POV switch, just to keep consistency while also providing more info on what's happening.  
> (Besides, who doesn't like reading about character's motivations and thought processes? That's why multiple POVs exist for the SMP anyways - you get more info through watching the different creators.)
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying this so far! Every comment, Kudos, and bookmark means so much to me. :') Living vicariously through watching the number slowly get bigger... Ah. Seratonin.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've posted to this site, and the first I've written for this particular fandom. I'm a little nervous (especially given I haven't actually posted any of my writing online for YEARS now), so feel free to comment and let me know what you think! Any input is much appreciated.
> 
> I've got a bit planned here, just need to find the time and energy to write it all out. Hopefully you guys will com back to read more once it's ready!


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